


Scenes from the Hogwarts Infirmary

by willowwand



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowwand/pseuds/willowwand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Ron and Hermione missing moments all taking place in the hospital wing.</p><p>First published on the now-defunct R/Hr (Romione) site Checkmated starting March 26 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year

_His face had been pale, eerily pale, and yet his jaw was set in such a way that Hermione knew there would be no convincing him otherwise.  She watched in horror as the White Queen slid across the giant chessboard and struck Ron with a heavy arm across his head. She screamed as Ron crumbled to the ground. He had sacrificed himself so Harry could reach the stone._

                       

After Hermione had left Harry and walked back through the purple fire, she hurried to the room with McGonagall’s giant chess set to rouse Ron. She was terrified to find him still lying unconscious amongst the broken pieces of black and white stone.

 

“Ron!” she said, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him roughly. “Ron, wake up!”

 

Hermione noticed a large, bloody lump rising beneath his ginger hair right above his left temple.  Her lip trembled as she shook him again. She had read of a spell, _Rennervate,_ she could have used to bring him around, but it was a bit advanced for her and she couldn’t remember the proper wand movement. Instead, she just continued to shake him and call his name. After several tense minutes, panic flaring within her the entire time, Ron slowly opened his eyes.

 

 “Hermione?” he muttered tentatively.  Then he quickly sat upright. “Where’s Harry?”

 

She explained about the concussed troll and Snape’s riddle as she pulled him to his feet. “Quick, we have to send an owl to Dumbledore,” she shouted.

 

Ron swayed a bit, but determinately followed Hermione back to the key room, where they took the broomsticks and flew back through the trap door. He narrowly avoided one of Fluffy’s heads as she aimed a spell at the door leading to the corridor, causing it to fly open. Once they made it through the door, Hermione locked it again and she and Ron ran toward the Owlery. They met Dumbledore in the entrance hall.

 

“Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?” Dumbledore asked.

 

However, he didn’t seem to need an answer. He swept past them, briefly taking in the bloody mess at the side of Ron’s head. “Miss Granger, kindly lead Mr. Weasley to the infirmary,” he instructed before nimbly darting up the marble staircase.

 

Hermione turned to look at Ron, who seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes in focus. “Ron!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm just as he was about to fall over.

 

“I’m okay,” he mumbled feebly.

 

“Come on, hospital wing,” she said, putting her arm around his back to steady him as they shuffled up the staircase to the hospital wing. It was slow progress. A couple times, Hermione felt Ron’s body begin to sag and she had to drag him back onto his feet before they could proceed.

 

Hermione knew it was well after midnight and Madam Pomfrey would likely be asleep. When they arrived at the hospital wing, she leaned Ron against the wall and hesitantly rapped on the door. After a few minutes, Madam Pomfrey opened the door.

 

“What is this racket? You again?” she asked, looking at Ron. She tutted and motioned at Hermione to help her lead him inside. “Not another mysterious bite, is it?”

 

“Please, Madam Pomfrey, he was struck on the side of his head. He’s been in and out of consciousness for the past half hour or so,” Hermione said, as they pulled Ron into the room.

 

“Struck by what exactly?” she asked, lifting her eyebrow suspiciously.

 

Ron and Hermione looked at each other but remained silent.

 

Madam Pomfrey frowned, but didn’t press the matter. She and Hermione led Ron to a cot and had him sit down.  She lit her wand and shined it into Ron’s eyes. Then she lifted the hair surrounding the bloody bump on Ron’s head and looked at his injury.        

           

“He lost consciousness, you say?” she asked Hermione.

 

Hermione nodded.

 

Madam Pomfrey turned back to Ron. “Do you have any other symptoms? Nausea? Dizziness? Headache?”

 

“All three,” Ron groaned.

 

“Well, young man. You appear to have a concussion. I’ll be right back with potions that will reduce the swelling and take away any pain you may be having, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep you here for observation.”

 

She turned to Hermione. “Miss…?”

 

“Granger.”

 

“Miss Granger, he is in no danger. I suggest you go back to…”

 

It was then that Dumbledore came bursting through the doors of the infirmary, levitating a stretcher holding Harry’s pale and seemingly lifeless body in front of him.

           

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed.

           

Ron made to stand up, but Madam Pomfrey forced him back down and against the pillows.

 

“Professor Dumbledore, what is going on?” Madam Pomfrey gasped.

 

“Quickly, Poppy,” Dumbledore said as he deposited Harry on bed opposite of Ron’s.

 

Madam Pomfrey drew the curtains around it, leaving Hermione and Ron staring fearfully at the hangings.

           

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Ron asked, looking more alert than he had been since they emerged from the third floor corridor.

           

She didn’t answer, trying desperately to fight back tears. She sat in a chair positioned beside Ron’s bed, feeling as though her knees were about give out. They stared in silence at the drawn curtains surrounding Harry’s bed for several minutes. Suddenly, Professor Dumbledore emerged, a grim expression set on his lined face. He approached Ron and Hermione.

 

“Is Harry okay, Professor?” Hermione asked breathlessly before he had a chance to say anything.

 

“He should be fine,” Dumbledore replied. “With some rest.”

 

“What happened to him?” Ron asked, slightly unnerved by Dumbledore’s expression.

 

“He has exhausted himself,” Dumbledore said simply. “I am sure when he wakes he will be more than willing to fill you in on the details. However, I will warn you that it may not be for a few days.”

 

“A few days?” Hermione gasped, looking very pale.

 

“Yes, Miss Granger, and in the meantime perhaps you should go back to Gryffindor Tower and get some rest yourself.”

 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, glancing from Ron’s blood matted hair to Harry’s shielded bed. She didn’t want to leave, but she knew, after all the school rules they had broken that night, that perhaps it wasn’t the best time to argue.

 

Ron apparently did not see it that way. “Please, sir. Couldn’t she stay? I’m not sure if I can fall asleep after all that happened tonight. Maybe she can keep me company for a little while, if that’s okay?”

 

Hermione thought she saw a slight smile tug at the corners of Dumbledore’s lips. She thought better of it once he turned toward her, his face still etched with worry and perhaps a touch of fatigue. “I suppose, if it is all right with you, Miss Granger,” he answered.

 

Hermione nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Well then, I will take my leave. I am sure that Madam Pomfrey will be finished in a few moments and will be able to administer your potions, Mr. Weasley. Good night to you both,” Dumbledore said as he swept from the room.

 

A few minutes later Madam Pomfrey bustled out from behind the curtains drawn around Harry’s bed and into her office. She returned with two goblets and handed them to Ron, ignoring both his and Hermione’s inquiries about Harry. Ron drank his potions one after the other, coughing and gagging at the taste.

 

“Maybe you’ll think about that next time you get yourself into a dangerous situation,” the nurse scolded.

 

She smeared something gooey and purple on Ron’s wound and tapped it with her wand, leaving no trace of a cut behind.

 

“Now, I don’t want you to stay long, Miss Granger. You need sleep, and so do you, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said. “If you need anything else, I’ll be in my quarters.”

 

“Thank you,” Ron and Hermione mumbled in unison.

 

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked tentatively as soon as the nurse had gone.

 

“Much better. Mum always said we Weasleys have hard heads. I guess she was right,” Ron joked.

 

“That’s not funny, you could have been seriously injured.”

 

“But I wasn’t.”

 

“Well, it certainly seemed like it for a while,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t wake you at first.”

 

“I’m fine, Hermione,” he said exasperatedly.

           

They sat in silence for a while, not knowing what to say, glancing nervously at the bed where Harry lay unconscious.  Finally, Ron spoke.  “You know, when I was little, my mum used to tell me stories about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. I never thought when I got to Hogwarts he’d be my best mate and that he’d just be a regular bloke. I sort of imagined he’d be a bit like that git Malfoy.”

 

“What kind of stories?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“About Harry. What sort of stories did your mum used to tell you?”

 

Ron laughed. “Odd things, like everyone knew that Harry had gone to live with Muggles. She used to tell me this one where he went to live with the Muggle Queen and she fed him ice cream for every meal.”

 

“Why would she tell you stories like that?” she giggled.

 

“Dunno. They were just like faerie tales, you know? Didn’t your mum ever tell you stories before bed?”

 

“Yes, but the ones she told me were mostly about knights and maidens and evil witches.”

 

“Blimey! Why would she tell you stories about Dark witches?”

 

“Remember, I grew up Muggle,” Hermione explained. “In the Muggle world, magic is often seen as something frightening. There are many bad witches in Muggle literature, but there are good ones too, of course.”

 

“Well, I think that’s barmy,” Ron said, shaking his head.

 

Hermione was going to say something when a large yawn came upon her.

 

“Maybe you should go to bed,” Ron suggested. “You look really tired. Dumbledore said Harry could be out for a few days, and I think the pain potion I took is making me sleepy as well.”

 

“I guess you’re right.”

 

“Maybe you can come by later,” he said. “You know, if I’m not out of here yet. We can play Exploding Snap or chess.”

 

“Are you sure you would want to play chess?” Hermione asked anxiously.

 

Ron automatically rubbed his head. “Yeah, at least I won’t be the one talking the beating next time.”

 

Hermione hesitated. “That was very brave what you did in there, sacrificing yourself like that.”

 

“It had to be done,” he said, shrugging casually, but she noticed his ears got very red. “Besides, Harry and I wouldn’t have made it out of the Devil’s Snare had it not been for you.”

 

Hermione glanced at the direction of Harry’s bed again. “Do you really think he’ll be all right?”

 

“Of course,” Ron said. “He beat You-Know-Who when he was just a baby. Do you really think he could be taken down by Snape?”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “I just hope he wakes up in time for the leaving feast.”

 

“I know, all that delicious food,” he said longingly. “Too bad Harry has to go back and live with those horrible Muggles afterward.”

 

“Honestly, Ron, they can’t be that bad.”

 

“They used to keep him in a cupboard, Hermione!” he replied indignantly.

 

“Harry had to have been exaggerating. What sort of person would do that to a child?”

 

“Those barmy Muggles he lives with, apparently. They never give him proper Christmas presents or anything.”

 

“That reminds me. Harry’s birthday is next month. We need to make sure to send him cards.”

 

“I’m going to ask if he can come and stay with me this summer,” Ron said. “Mum would probably throw him a birthday party or something. You’re welcome to come and stay too, if you want.  You can stay with my sister, Ginny, in her room.”

 

“Well, I’d have to ask my parents first, but I think they’re planning for us to go somewhere on holiday.”

 

Ron shrugged. “I reckon I can always owl you sometime in the summer and you can let me know.”

 

Hermione nodded and stood. “I’ll be back later this afternoon.”

 

“Excellent, if you see my brother Percy, can you ask him to bring my chessboard? I’d tell you to ask Fred and George, but who knows what they’d do to my things if I allowed them to rifle through them.”

 

“All right then,” she said, casting one more glance in Harry’s direction. “Goodnight, Ron.”

 

“Night, Hermione.”

 

She walked toward the door and swung it open. As she made her way back alone toward Gryffindor Tower, she thought about all the things that had happened that night. Ron and Harry were both very brave. She was lucky, really, to have them as her friends. Once she got back to the Common Room, she knew she would have to unbind poor Neville. Then she would finally get to go to sleep. She knew she was going to need plenty of rest to deal with all the questions she’d surely get once she woke.


	2. Second Year

“And don’t laugh at her this time,” Harry said as he and Ron made their way down the fourth floor corridor toward the hospital wing.

“What?” Ron protested. “I couldn’t help it. She hissed at me.”

“You purposely made her angry so she would.”

“It’s funny when her hair stands on end like that.”

“Ron!”

“All right,” Ron said grudgingly, shifting the stack of books he was carrying to his other arm. 

Hermione had been in the hospital wing for a week, ever since after dinner on Christmas. She, Ron, and Harry had taken Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Slytherins in the hope that Malfoy would tell them some information about who the Heir of Slytherin was. Unfortunately, Hermione had made a mistake with her dose of potion and instead of turning into Millicent Bulstrode, she turned partially into Millicent Bulstrode’s cat.

Harry and Ron had come by every evening after supper to visit and to check on the progress of her retransformation. The night before, she had asked them if they would pick up a few books for her that Professor McGonagall had agreed to lend her. So tonight, they both were loaded down with armfuls of heavy books.

“Ah, Harry!” said a voice from behind them.

They froze. 

“Run,” Ron whispered. “It’s Lockhart.”

“Doing a bit of reading, boys?” Professor Lockhart said as he strolled up to them. “Anything I would know?” 

He winked. Ron looked positively revolted. 

“Please sir, we’re taking these books to Hermione,” Harry said. “She’s ill in the hospital wing.” 

“Miss Granger is ill?” exclaimed Lockhart. “Why that won’t do at all. I cannot have my star pupil laid up in the infirmary when term begins. Maybe I should send her a card… Yes, that would speed things along. Of course, I have so much fan mail to answer already it may take awhile, but maybe I can jump her to the front of the queue…”

“Yes, er, I’m sure she’d like that,” Harry replied.

Ron rolled his eyes. She most certainly would. It seemed like every witch in Britain fancied the brainless git, and Hermione was no exception. He couldn’t figure out why. Lockhart was completely useless as a professor, a joke really. 

“Well, let’s see what you have here, boys,” said Lockhart, pulling Demystifying Muggles from the top of the stack of books Harry was carrying. “No, no, my dear boy, this will not do at all. Why, this is rubbish. I just started my latest book based on an entire year I lived in a small Muggle town to protect them from a band of unruly goblins. I’m thinking of calling it Mediating with Muggles. What do you think?”

They gaped at Lockhart, completely lost for words. 

“I know,” Lockhart said, nodding. “Amazing that I came up with a title that good on the first try, isn’t it? Well, come along Harry. I’ll give you some scrolls you can take to Miss Granger full of my research and, as an added bonus, I’ll tell you all about how I defeated those nasty goblins.”

Harry shot a Ron a pleading look. Ron smirked until Lockhart lifted the remaining books from Harry’s arms and loaded them along with Demystifying Muggles onto his pile. His knees nearly buckled under their weight.

“Mr. Weasley, I’m sure you won’t mind returning all of these. Don’t worry. I’ll catch you up later. Come along, Harry,” Lockhart said as he led him away.

Ron shook his head and muttered, “Mental.” 

He sighed and made his way slowly to the hospital wing. Mercifully, they were almost there when Lockhart had stopped them. Ron carefully pushed the door open with his knee and banged his way inside.

“Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey’s stern voice rang out as she emerged from behind the curtains surrounding Hermione’s bed. “This is the hospital wing. Healing requires rest and no one could possibly rest with all the racket you’re making.”

He couldn’t see what the fuss was. The only other people in the infirmary besides Hermione were Colin and Justin and they were both petrified. Ron doubted very much that they would mind the noise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Yes, well. Miss Granger has been expecting you, but you mustn’t stay long. She needs her rest.” 

Madam Pomfrey turned and went into her office. Ron attempted to shift the books more comfortably in his arms and made his way toward Hermione’s bed. 

“Hi, Hermione,” he said as he went around the curtain. 

He dumped the books unceremoniously into one of the chairs positioned beside her bed and sat down in another. 

“Hello, Ron,” she said. “Oh my! Did you carry all those here by yourself?”

“No, Harry was carrying some of them for awhile.”

“Where is Harry?”

“Lockhart ambushed him down the corridor from here,” Ron snickered.

“Honestly, Ron! Ambushed?” she queried, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“There’s no other way to describe it, Hermione! Came out of nowhere, he did, and just dragged Harry off.” 

Hermione rolled her yellow eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but Ron beat her to it.

“The git asked about you, by the way.”

“He is not a gi… what?” Ron was sure if Hermione’s cheeks hadn’t been covered in black fur, they would have turned pink. “He did? What did he say?”

This time Ron rolled his eyes. “He said it would be a shame if his star pupil was in the hospital wing when term began.”

“Me? His star…well, I’ve done well on his quizzes, but star pupil? I don’t… I mean, I had hoped…” she babbled.

“Anyway,” he cut in. “Are you going to tell me why was I lugging half of the books McGonagall’s bookcase up here for you?” 

“Well, we have to choose our classes for next year, don’t we?” she said. “I thought I’d get a little research done.”

“You’re a nutter. You know that?”

Hermione bristled. “Why? Because I’m thinking of my future?”

“No,” he replied. “Because we don’t actually choose classes until the end of the year.”

“It’s called making an informed decision. How do you plan on choosing classes?”

“Well, Percy took divination, and he says that’s really good. Fred, George and Charlie all took Care of Magical Creatures, so I’ll probably take that as well.”

“What did Bill take?”

“Er, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.”

Hermione reached for an Arithmancy book and flipped through the pages. “It looks interesting.”

“It had better be after nearly breaking my back bringing all these over here.”

“Why didn’t you just levitate them?”

“And blow them all up?” he snorted. “I didn’t think you or McGonagall would be overly pleased with that.”

Hermione eyed Ron warily. “I’m sure if you owled your mum and asked her nicely she’d send you a new wand.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t continue with your wand in that state,” she insisted.

“Just drop it, Hermione.”

“But, Ron, how are you going to do well on your exams with that wand?”

“They can’t afford it,” Ron blurted out, his ears turning very red. “My dad’s been fined fifty Galleons for the flying car, and Malfoy’s dad is trying to get him sacked.”

“W-what?” Hermione stammered. “But surely they wouldn’t…I mean they can’t. Wait, when did you find this out?”

“Malfoy told us on Christmas when he thought we were Crabbe and Goyle. It was in the Daily Prophet and everything,” Ron said miserably.

“Oh, Ron, I’m sorry.”

“I’m surprised my mum didn’t send me another Howler. It’s all my fault. I should have never flown that car.”

“I’m sure that Lucius Malfoy won’t be able to get your dad sacked,” she said softly.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, running a hand through his hair. “My dad always says that Malfoy has a lot of influence at the Ministry. He donates a lot of gold.”

Hermione snorted. “I don’t understand how someone who is said to have been in league with You-Know-Who can be considered a humanitarian just because he donates a bit of gold.”

“He doesn’t just donate a bit of gold,” he explained. “He donates quite a lot, according to my dad. Besides, it isn’t only that. The Malfoys are an old wizarding family.”

“So?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You haven’t lived in this world long enough,” Ron said, letting out a sigh. “Do you know what pure blood families like the Malfoys call families like mine, Hermione?”

She shook her head.

“Blood traitors. You heard Malfoy’s dad in Flourish and Blotts. He thinks we’re a disgrace to the wizarding world.”

“Well I don’t think there’s anything disgraceful about treating people equally regardless of magical families and backgrounds,” she huffed. 

“I don’t either, but there are many wizards who do, wizards who have a lot of power within the Ministry.”

He sat back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hand. He couldn’t shake the uneasiness he felt coursing through his body. 

“Ron,” she began hesitantly. “Your dad’s fine isn’t the only thing bothering you, is it?”

He looked at her and sighed heavily. “Remember how we told you Malfoy had said the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before and that a student was killed?”

Hermione nodded.

“Well, Malfoy said it was only a matter of time before someone was killed this time.”

“Oh Ron, you know how Malfoy…”

“He hoped it was you, Hermione.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “He was just saying that. We know he isn’t the one behind this.”

“But he’s right,” he replied. “The Heir of Slytherin is going to go after all the Muggle-borns until someone is killed. He’ll keep killing until there are no Muggle-borns left or until they all pull out of Hogwarts. Then he’ll go after the half-bloods. You and Harry are in a lot of danger.”

She stared at him for a moment with an odd expression on her face. “We’ll figure this out, Ron. I know we will.”

He shrugged, slightly embarrassed at being so worried. Luckily, the creak of a door drew Hermione’s attention from him.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said, moments later as he pulled open the curtains around Hermione’s bed.

“Hello, Harry.”

He tipped a dozen scrolls of parchment onto the large pile of books in the chair beside Ron.

“Lockhart wanted me to bring you these,” Harry said in a long-suffering voice. “They’re speeches he’s given on the subject of Muggle rights.”

Hermione beamed. “Thank you.”

“So, what were you two talking about?” Harry asked.

“What else?” Ron replied.

Harry frowned. “Lockhart was going on about the Chamber of Secrets being located under the Great Hall or some rubbish like that.”

“Well we don’t know, do we? It very well could be,” Hermione said shrilly.

Ron and Harry shared a skeptical look, but otherwise said nothing. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to pop in and say hello. Madame Pomfrey says you need your rest,” Harry said.

“Like she’s going to rest with all these books to keep her company,” Ron joked as he rose from his chair.

“Very funny,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Harry promised.

“Ok then,” she said, ignoring Ron’s snickering as she disappeared behind the Arithmancy book she abandoned earlier.

Harry ranted about his encounter with Lockhart as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, but Ron wasn’t listening too closely. He still had a bad feeling about the Chamber of Secrets. They weren’t any closer than they had been before Christmas. Even though Hermione seemed confident that they’d figure this out, he wasn’t as sure. What if something happened to her or to Harry? He heard Harry give the Fat Lady the password and he stepped through the portrait hole after him, wishing he had an idea of that to do next.


	3. Third Year

“Wow,” Ron said, a look of awe etched across his face. “He got away then?”

 

Hermione nodded.

 

“Wow,” Ron repeated.

 

Hermione had just finished recounting the events from earlier that night, how she and Harry had used her Time-Turner to go back and save Buckbeak and Sirius, and how Harry had saved them from the Dementors. She was sitting at the foot of his bed in the hospital wing.  Ron was sitting up against his pillows with his leg stretched out in front of him. Madam Pomfrey had fixed the break, but it would still be stiff for a few hours, she had warned.

 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that big a deal, Ron,” she said, even though they both knew it was.

 

“Hermione, you went back into time and helped a convicted murderer escape on the back of a condemned Hippogriff right under the Minister of Magic’s nose. Wish I had been there,” he said, with a hint of regret in his voice.

 

He fidgeted uncomfortably in his bed. Hermione saw the hurt in his eyes, despite all his attempts to hide it. 

 

“Stupid leg, stupid rat,” he mumbled.

 

"Yes, well, I’m glad you didn’t go. Harry was enough to deal with as it was. I don’t know how I’d have stopped the both of you from interfering. You two would have run amok and I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to stop you,” she said, her voice beginning to shake.  “It isn’t as though you listen to me. Even when I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

 

Now Hermione looked hurt, which made Ron exceedingly uncomfortable. After all, what if she began to cry and launched herself at him as she’d done earlier that year.

 

“Oi, Harry,” Ron said, attempting to break the unease with a joke. “Did you hear what Hermione said about us? She makes it sound like we’re a couple of dimwitted trolls, or something. Run amok, indeed.”

 

Harry was lying on his bed, a glazed expression on his face. It took a few seconds before he realized Ron and Hermione were looking at him. “Sorry, what?”

 

“Didn’t you hear what…” Ron began, but quickly noticed Harry had turned toward the open window and wasn’t listening. Ron raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who gave him a look as if to say she’d tell him later.

 

“Never mind,” he said, and Harry grunted in response.

 

Ron still looked a bit confused when he turned back to Hermione.

 

“How’s your leg?” she asked.

 

“Well, it hurts a bit to bend it, but otherwise it’s better.”

 

“Madam Pomfrey knows what she’s doing.”

 

“Good thing too,” he joked. “We spend a lot of time in here.”

 

Hermione frowned. “That isn’t funny.”

 

“Maybe not,” he shrugged. “But it’s true.”

 

Suddenly a loud snore came from Harry’s bed. Hermione stifled a giggle and Ron grinned.

 

 “Are we that boring?” he quipped.

 

Hermione shook her head sadly. “I don’t think so. He’s just exhausted. He fought the Dementors twice tonight.”

 

“Speaking of Dementors, bung me a piece of that chocolate, yeah?” he said, indicating the large block that was on the table between his and Harry’s beds.  “I’m feeling a bit sick.”

 

“You were nowhere near the Dementors.”

 

“I was outside. They were everywhere, Hermione. I have chills just thinking about it.”

 

She rolled her eyes and handed him a large chunk of chocolate, which he shoved into his mouth all at once.

 

“Fanks,” he said thickly.

 

She sighed and looked away while he chewed.

 

Once his mouth was clear of chocolate, Ron asked, “So why is he all…”

 

He didn’t seem to know of how to describe it, so he just waved his hand vaguely in Harry’s direction.

 

“Well, I suspect part of it has to do with Sirius. He seemed really happy to have met him. But…” she hesitated. “Something happened with the Dementors.”

 

“What?”

 

“Harry, er, thought he saw his father.”

 

“But his dad’s dead,” Ron replied, a perplexed expression on his face.

 

“I know that, and Harry knows it as well. It’s just that when his past self saw his future self conjure the Patronus that saved us, he thought he was his dad.”

 

Ron wrinkled his forehead, trying to work that out. He wondered why Hermione always had to speak in riddles.

 

“Everyone always says that Harry looks just like his father,” she continued.

 

“Yeah, he does.” Ron admitted.

 

Hermione looked puzzled. “How do you know?”

 

“Harry has this photo album with pictures of his mum and dad. I reckon he keeps it a secret.”

 

“How do you know about it, then?”

 

 “The summer before second year, you know, after Fred, George and I picked him up in the flying car.”

 

Hermione frowned disapprovingly at the memory.

 

“Well, Mum had me doing all these chores to make up for what we had done, so Harry had gone up to bed early. When I went upstairs, he’d fallen asleep in his clothes and the book was open beside him.”

 

“And you looked at it?” Hermione scolded. “That was personal.”

 

“I know that, Hermione,” Ron said angrily. “I didn’t know what it was though. I thought he was looking through a schoolbook and I was going to take the mickey out of him for…”

 

He broke off, looking slightly sheepish.

 

“For what, Ron?” she asked, suspiciously.

 

He blushed. “For reading a schoolbook in bed. That’s really the sort of thing you’d do, isn’t it?”

 

She frowned and opened her mouth to argue when Ron cut in.

 

“Well then, aren’t you glad Harry was there to run amok in the past?” he asked.

 

“What?”

 

“You complained that Harry and I would run amok in the past and you wouldn’t be able to stop us,” he argued. “But Harry did interfere and everything turned out fine.”

 

She sighed heavily. “Well, yes but, it was very irresponsible of him. Something _could_ have gone wrong.”  


“Hermione! He saved your life. He saved Sirius’s life,” he shouted, incredulously.

 

“Hush, Ron. Madam Pomfrey will come in here,” she said, glancing toward the nurse’s quarters.

 

She stood and got into her bed, which was on the other side of his, just in case Madam Pomfrey came to check on them.

 

Ron shifted his body down until his head rested on his pillow, groaning at the pain in his leg.  He sighed and looked up the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione watching him. He turned his head to face her.

 

“Something wrong?” he asked.

 

She shook her head, as if clearing it. “Yes, well, no…it’s just, I was thinking about what you said in the Shrieking Shack tonight.”

 

“What was that?”

 

“You told Sirius if he wanted to kill Harry he’d have to kill us, too.”

 

“Oh, that,” Ron said, looking embarrassed. “Well, we thought he was a murderer didn’t we? I mean, I thought he was going…”

 

“No,” she cut him off. “I was just wondering how someone can betray their friends the way Peter did.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I can’t imagine being the one to cause a friend’s death,” she said softly.

 

Ron balled his hands into fists. “I should have known what he was,” he said through gritted teeth.

 

“What?” Hermione said, springing up from her bed. “You couldn’t have, none of us…”

 

“You heard the witch at the Magical Menagerie. Garden rats only live three years. I should have known there was something dodgy about him,” Ron said miserably.

 

An odd look came upon Hermione’s face. “Sometimes if you want to believe something bad enough, you can convince yourself into thinking it’s true.”

 

“What d’you mean?”

 

“Well, you wanted to believe Scabbers had lived as long as he had because you cared about him.”

 

Ron looked disgusted with himself.

 

“It isn’t a bad thing to have cared about Scabbers. You didn’t know what he was. You believed he was your pet, your friend,” she said.

 

“Well I was wrong,” Ron said simply, turning his head to look at the ceiling again.

 

“Perhaps,” she said. “But it isn’t your fault.”

 

“I brought him into the dormitory. He could have hurt Harry.”

 

“Ron, you had no idea. None of us did.”

 

“I wish Crookshanks had eaten him,” he said in a low voice.

 

“If he had, we’d have never learned the truth and you’d…”

 

He turned his head toward her and saw that she looked upset again. He knew why. He and Harry, mostly he, had treated Hermione terribly that year.

 

“I’m sorry for all that. Hagrid was right,” he said, guiltily. “We shouldn’t have put rats and broomsticks before friends.”

 

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. It’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling.

 

Hermione yawned and lay back down. “Maybe we should go to sleep. It’s been a long night.”

 

“Think Madam Pomfrey will let us out tomorrow?”

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

“That’s good,” Ron said, feeling his eyelids beginning to get heavy. He shifted in attempt to make himself more comfortable. “Ruddy leg.”

 

He could hear Hermione’s breathing, slow and deep from the bed next to him, mingling with Harry’s light snores. Though he still felt a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach about his pet rat turning out to be a Death Eater Animagus, he managed to push it down and finally let sleep wash over him.

 

 


	4. Fourth Year

“There,” Hermione muttered, as she held a glass jar holding a fat, black beetle up to her face. “Good thing I’m up to scratch on my Unbreakable Charms.”

“Hermione?” a voice called out.

She hastily stowed the jar in one of the deep pockets of her robes just as Ron appeared from behind the screens surrounding Harry’s bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking at her suspiciously.

“Oh, I needed a jar, so I asked Madam Pomfrey if she had any to spare,” Hermione replied.

“Why would you need a jar?” 

“Oh, nothing important,” Hermione said dismissively. She smiled at the faint buzzing she heard coming from her pocket.

Ron looked confused and opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off. “How’s Harry?” she asked.

Hermione knew it wasn’t the proper time to let him in on Rita Skeeter’s little secret, even though she was dying to tell him.

Ron looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “The same. He’s still sleeping.”

“I noticed you had dozed off yourself,” she said with an amused smile.

He blushed slightly. “Well, there isn’t much to do but sit there and look at him. Besides we’ve been here all night.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I’m pretty tired myself.”

“You could kip on one of the beds,” he suggested. “I’m sure Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Hermione said as she cast another glance toward Harry’s bed and rubbed her eyes wearily.

“It’s just as well. I think my mum is going to send us up to bed once she gets back.”

Hermione wrinkled her forehead. “Where did she go?”

“She wanted to talk to Dumbledore about Harry staying the summer with us at the Burrow.” 

“That sounds like a good idea considering all he went though this year,” Hermione said with a shiver. “And tonight.”

Ron frowned. “I can’t believe You-Know-Who is back.”

“Dumbledore didn’t seem to be too surprised about it, did he?”

“No, but that’s just Dumbledore, isn’t it?”

“I hope Harry is going to be all right,” Hermione sighed. “I’ve never seen him look so upset before.”

Ron ran his hand through his hair, looking uneasy. “I know.”

“And Cedric…” she said quietly.

“Yeah, I can’t believe he’s dead,” he said solemnly. “I mean, he was just a few years older than we are.”

“I wonder what happened in that maze,” she said, more to herself than to Ron. “Dumbledore told Fudge that the cup transported Harry to You-Know-Who. Do you think he meant the cup was a Portkey?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

Hermione continued. “And then Fleur and Viktor both had to be helped out of the maze. What do you suppose happened? Neither of them looked well.”

Ron clenched his jaw slightly and replied in an icy tone, “I’m sure if you asked Vicky he’d be quite pleased to tell you.”

Hermione frowned. “What are you on about?”

“Well the two of you are close, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione hissed. “What are you implying?”

“You went to the ball with him, didn’t you? All I’m saying is that he wouldn’t mind getting you alone for a nice chat is all.”

Hermione scowled. “And so what if he likes to talk to me? He’s my friend.”

“Yeah, well, that’s questionable.”

“Questionable?”

Ron’s entire face was red with fury now. “Funny that he wanted to be your friend and suddenly Harry gets captured and You-Know-Who returns?”

“I can’t believe you…” Hermione said, astonished. “How can you…”

“How do we know he didn’t have something to do with this? We have no idea what went on in there.”

“Exactly, it could have been anyone.”

Ron snorted. “I doubt that.”

“Oh, really!” she cried. “And what do you suppose happened?”

“Krum’s a Durmstrang, Hermione,” he argued. “They teach Dark Magic there. You can’t deny that. So, obviously he must know a thing or two about it.”

“This is ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “Viktor didn’t have anything to do with this and you know it. Dumbledore said something about Barty Crouch.”

“That’s barmy! You’re saying that Percy’s boss was behind all this?”

“Weren’t you listening at all? Dumbledore said something about being smuggled out of Azkaban. He must have meant Crouch’s son.”

“But his son’s dead.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “But it’s the only option that makes sense. Maybe if you’d let me think for just one second I could figure something out.”

“Fine,” Ron fumed.

For several minutes, they stood in silence. Ron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and avoided looking at her. She was incredibly frustrated and she didn’t know what to do. She tried to focus on what Dumbledore had said to Fudge, but her mind get drifting back to Ron’s comments about Viktor. It really upset her that he seemed intent on vilifying him. This had led to many arguments between her and Ron and it troubled her quite a bit.

Things had gotten awfully strained between her and Ron this year. The row they had after the Yule Ball had done nothing but make her very confused. Her mum had always told her that it took longer for boys to come around when it came to fancying girls. She had realized in their third year that she had feelings for Ron that went beyond friendship. It made her wonder if he’d ever feel that way about her. At the time, he didn’t seem to feel that way about any girl, so she still had hope. However, the way he’d drooled over Fleur Delacour all this year brought her to the sad realization that Ron had finally come around about girls, but he just didn’t see Hermione as a girl.

“Hermione?”

She snapped out of her reverie to see Ron staring intently at her. 

“What?” she snapped, her cheeks tinged pink.

“I wanted to know if you were okay.” 

“What? Oh…yes, well, I was just thinking about… Harry,” she said, flustered.

For a fleeting second she thought she saw a dark look cross Ron’s face. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to stay with your family over the summer,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ron said with a sigh. “Has to be better than going back to his uncle’s house all summer.”

She nodded. “Do you think your mum will be able to convince Dumbledore to let him stay with you?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “Mum can be very persuasive.”

“Well, it’ll do him good to be around people who care about him. I still can’t believe they treat him the way they do. It’s appalling,” she said.

There was another stretch of silence, which made Hermione want to scream. Ron was wearing a pensive expression, and she was dying to know what was going on in his head. Things had been so much simpler when they were eleven.

“Hermione…” he said finally.

“Yes?”

“I thought maybe you’d like to come to the Burrow for the summer, too. I mean, if your parents say it’s all right… You can come straight away…” he paused, and looked away from her. “Unless, there’s somewhere else you’d rather go…”

Hermione felt a flare of anger rise up inside her as Ron attempted to put on his most innocent expression.

“Somewhere else I’d rather go?” Hermione replied scathingly. “Like Bulgaria, you mean?”

Ron’s ears burned bright red. “So you are going then. W-what about…Harry? He needs us.”

Hermione gaped at him in disbelief. “How dare you suggest that if I were to go to Bulgaria it would mean I don’t care about Harry?”

“You just met Krum, Hermione. You don’t know him that well,” he protested. “And he’s much older than you, what if he tries something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. 

“I’m not being ridiculous, I…”

“What is going on in here?”

Both Hermione and Ron started and turned to see Mrs. Weasley walking briskly from the door of the hospital wing. They hadn’t noticed she returned because they were so wrapped up in their argument. 

“We…we were…” Ron stammered.

“You heard Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey both say Harry needed rest,” hissed Mrs. Weasley in a loud whisper. “He’s been through enough tonight without having to be woken up by the two of you squabbling.”

“We’re sorry, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said, feeling ashamed of herself.

“I think the two of you should go up to bed,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly.

“What did Dumbledore say about Harry?” Ron asked.

The expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face softened a little. “Well, he said he’d rather Harry go back to his aunt’s house for awhile… just at first. He can come a bit later in the summer.”

“But why?” Ron persisted.

“Never you mind. It’s Dumbledore’s decision,” she said sternly. “But Hermione, dear, you’re welcome to come at any time.” 

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said, feeling Ron’s eyes on her. “I’d like that very much.”

“It’s our pleasure, dear. Now, both of you go to bed. It’s been an exhausting night.”

They said goodnight to Mrs. Weasley and headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

“So, you aren’t going to Bulgaria, then?” Ron asked, looking pleased. 

“It’s none of your business, Ron.”

“But you just told Mum you’d come to the Burrow.”

“I will, but I didn’t say when,” Hermione replied. “She said I could come at any time.” 

Ron scowled and didn’t talk to her for the rest of the way to the Common Room. 

Hermione felt slightly guilty because she actually had no intention of going to Bulgaria over the summer. Although she’d never admit it to Ron, her parents’ concerns were likely to mirror his, and had a lot of basis in truth. She hadn’t known Viktor for very long and she certainly didn’t know him that well. Still, it infuriated her that Ron thought he had the right to decide with whom she could or could not be friends. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was jealous. She’d wondered about that quite a bit since the Yule Ball, but no, that couldn’t be.

When they reached Gryffindor Tower, Hermione gave the password to the Fat Lady and they climbed through the portrait hole. She was a little surprised when Ron gave her a rather curt “goodnight” before stomping up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. She really didn’t know what to make of him. Hermione sighed and shook her head sadly. Then, she slowly headed up the set of stairs to her own dormitory.


	5. Fifth Year

She was struggling. Why was it so hard to open her eyes? She gasped for breath, feeling as though something was pressing heavily on her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

 

“Hermione?”

 

That voice seemed so familiar.

 

“Hermione!”

 

There it was again, then the rustle of bedclothes and creaking of springs. She heard the sound of bare feet slapping against stone, a knock, and mumbling that she couldn’t make out over her desperate wheezing.

 

Another voice rang out, a stern female voice. “Get back to bed, Mr. Weasley.”

 

Moments later, she felt an arm bracing her behind her back forcing her to sit up. She was still gasping for air, still struggling to see through her tear-filled eyes.

 

“Drink this, Miss Granger.”

 

Hermione felt liquid pouring into her mouth and down her throat. It burned, but she couldn’t cry out. Almost at once, the pain in her chest subsided slightly and her breaths-- once again-- became steady and even. She was finally able to focus her eyes.

 

The hospital wing. She was in the hospital wing. Immediately her heart leapt into her throat.  Everything was coming in flashes: the Department of Mysteries, the Prophecy, riding the Thestral, being chased by Death Eaters… Death Eaters!

 

“Ron? Harry?” she choked out in panic.

 

“I’m here, Hermione.” Ron answered.

 

“You get back into bed, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said in a stern voice. “Everyone’s fine.”

 

“A-nd Neville and Ginny…oh, and Luna.”

 

“All fine.”

 

Hermione fell back against her pillows wincing at the pain in her chest.

 

“I’ll fetch some pain relieving potion,” Madam Pomfrey said to her. She turned to Ron in the bed next to Hermione’s. “And you had better be in that bed when I get back.”

 

Madam Pomfrey spun on her heel and walked purposefully toward her office.

 

“Bloody cow,” Ron muttered.

 

Hermione rubbed her eyes and blinked. “What time is it?”

 

Ron grabbed his battered wristwatch from the bedside table. “It’s about 7 a.m.”

 

“I must have been out for hours,” Hermione said nervously.

 

“Yeah, Madam Pomfrey was getting worried,” Ron said, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. “She said if you didn’t wake up soon she was going to have to take you to St. Mungo’s.”

 

 He ran his hand through his hair, exposing a heavily bandaged arm.

 

“What happened to your arms?”

 

“Nothing,” Ron said quickly. “I’m fine.”

 

“Is everyone really all right?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied lightly, almost too lightly. “You okay?

 

“I think so,” she said, rubbing her ribs gingerly. “What happened? The last thing I really remember is smashing the shelves with the prophecies.”

 

Ron hung his head slightly. “Dunno, really. I wasn’t with you. Neville said you were hit with something bad. He and Harry thought you were dead.”

 

She blanched at his words but didn’t let them put her off. She had to know what had happened. “And Harry, he’s all right?”

 

“Yeah,” Ron said, avoiding her eye. “He’s fine. I reckon he’s in bed.”

 

“There’s something you aren’t telling me,” Hermione said, her voice rising slightly. “What happ….”

 

“Here you are, Miss Granger,” said Madam Pomfrey, appearing at Hermione’s side and thrusting a goblet into her hands. “Drink this. It’s going to hurt for a while. You were hit with a nasty curse, and I don’t know the extent of the damage quite yet.”

 

Hermione drank the potion quickly. It tasted like burnt beans. She forced it down, willing herself not to gag. Madam Pomfrey walked over to Ron’s bed holding a large jar of something called Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction.

 

“I think this might help those welts of yours,” Madam Pomfrey said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the dressings off so the ointment has a chance to breathe.”

 

Ron shot Hermione a furtive glance and started to unwind the bandages from the arm furthest away from her.  She scrunched her forehead in concentration, trying to remember something, anything that had happened that night. How could he have injured his arms?  Ron wadded up the bandage and shot another quick glance at her over his shoulder before beginning to unwrap the bandages from his other forearm. Hermione saw the deep, red gouges in his pale skin and gasped, her gaze darting up to his face. His ears flamed red and he avoided looking at her.

 

“Oh, Ron, what happened?” she cried.

 

“Miss Granger, you should be resting,” snapped Madam Pomfrey. “You’ll only do further harm to yourself by getting excited. Now lie back.”

 

Hermione leaned back against her pillows and watched as Madam Pomfrey dipped her fingers into the jar and began to apply the greasy ointment to Ron’s arms. It was a dark, brownish-green like rotting seaweed, but at least the scent—something like cut grass—wasn’t unpleasant. Nevertheless, it bothered Hermione that he seemed to be in pain. He was clenching his jaw as the nurse applied the ointment to his arms. 

 

Once Madam Pomfrey had finished applying the unction to his arm-- and to Ron’s apparent mortification, his chest--she turned back toward her office.  “Now, both of you need to get some rest. I need to brew a few potions for you, Miss Granger. I think they might help. Call if you need anything.”

 

After the nurse went back into her office and shut the door, Hermione turned to Ron again. 

 

“How did you get those welts, Ron?”

 

“Remember the room with the tank of brains?” he asked, still avoiding her concerned gaze.

 

“Yes, but what…”

 

“I got hit with something. I don’t know what it was… it had me acting all barmy,” he said miserably.

 

“But I don’t understand…”

 

“I Summoned one of the brains. It had these long tentacle things that wrapped around my arms and my chest, and this,” he said, holding up both his arms for her to see, “is what happened.”

 

“Does it hurt?” she asked, frowning at the angry red welts.

 

He shrugged. “A little bit. This gunk helps.”

 

Hermione frowned and carefully slunk down until her head rested on her pillow. She knew Ron was avoiding talking about what happened. He had said he hadn’t been lucid during the fight, but he obviously knew something she didn’t and she was determined to find out what.

 

“Something happened in the Department of Mysteries, didn’t it?” Hermione asked. “Voldemort got the prophecy, didn’t he?”

 

“Actually, no,” he replied. “Neville said he accidentally broke it.”

 

“Ron,” she said frustration evident in her voice. “I know you’re hiding something from me. What happened?”

 

“I don’t know much. I got hit with that curse early on, and I don’t really remember. All I know is what Neville told me.”

 

“Well, what did he tell you?” she demanded.

 

Ron awkwardly ran a hand through his hair.  He explained everything. How they had gotten separated and how only Harry and Neville were left to fight after she and Ron had been cursed and Ginny and Luna were Stunned. He told her how Harry had used the prophecy to lure the Death Eaters back into the room with the veil and how Bellatrix Lestrange had tried to torture Neville. Hermione looked horrified as Ron recounted everything Neville had told him.

 

“Then the Order showed up,” Ron said.  “Tonks, Kingsley, Lupin, Moody and Sirius.”

 

“Sirius!” Hermione exclaimed, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. She continued in a whisper. “What on Earth was he doing there? That was very irresponsible of him. I hope he went back to Headquarters before anyone saw him. I don’t believe how reckless and...”

 

“Hermione…”

 

“I don’t know what sort of example he’s setting for Harry. He’s always acting without thinking…”

 

“Hermione…”

 

“…so impulsive…”

 

“Hermione, listen,” Ron said, forcefully.

 

Her eyes widened slightly at his tone, but she didn’t argue further.

 

Ron took a deep breath and fidgeted with a hole in the hem of his t-shirt. Hermione’s stomach tensed at the sight of his forlorn expression.

 

He continued. “Dumbledore showed up and he started rounding up the Death Eaters, but Sirius was still dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange. Neville said she shot a stunner at him and he fell right through that dodgy veil.”

 

 “But he…surely, that wouldn’t do anything.”

 

Ron shook his head. “He’s gone. Sirius is... he’s dead.”

 

“Dead?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

 

He nodded solemnly.

 

Hermione let out a sob. “I didn’t…I shouldn’t have said…oh, poor Harry.”

 

“Harry didn’t take it well,” Ron said, his voice shaking slightly. “Neville said he went after Bellatrix Lestrange.”

 

“What?” she exclaimed fearfully.

 

“He’s okay,” he reassured her. “Dumbledore came by a while ago after he’d talked to Harry. He said he wasn’t hurt.”

 

“But Ron, he can’t possibly be okay.  Sirius was his godfather. He must be devastated. We need to talk to him.”

 

“Hermione, he’s not going to want to talk about it.”

 

She scoffed. “Of course he will. How else is he going to get past his grief?”

 

“He just needs time. Believe me, the last thing he’s going to want is you prodding him to talk about it. Blokes don’t talk about their feelings,” Ron explained.

 

Hermione’s eyes blazed with anger. “Well maybe you should.”

 

She crossed her arms across her chest and tried to ignore the stinging pain she felt there. How dare Ron suggest he knew what Harry needed better than she did. She was his friend, too. Tears pricked at her eyes once more. Her injury and exhaustion were conspiring against her. Then this news…she felt terrible about Sirius dying. No one she knew, _really knew_ , had ever died before. Harry had seen so much death in his lifetime. She really was worried about him. Of course, she also felt guilty for what she’d said about Sirius’s impulsiveness earlier. In truth, Sirius had been reckless and it had always frightened her that Harry, and to some extent, Ron exhibited the same nature at times.

 

But that wasn’t the only thing that was bothering her. She felt guilty for even thinking of it at a time like this, but Ron’s comment, _blokes don’t talk about their feelings,_ hit too close to home. All year she had been trying to figure out exactly what Ron’s feelings for her were. At times, it _seemed_ as though he fancied her. Every time he got upset when she mentioned Viktor she had a glimmer of hope that maybe he liked her, but at other times, he was infuriating, bickering with her over the most mundane things. Then there was his Christmas gift — perfume. She’d downplayed her reaction because she didn’t know what it meant. Clearly, he knew she was a girl _now_ , but it wasn’t enough. She wanted him to see her as a _fanciable_ girl.

 

Frustration welled up inside of her as she was bombarded with conflicting emotions: anguish at Sirius’s death, worry for Harry, annoyance with Ron, and shame for thinking of trivial things like her non-existent love life at a time like this.

 

“Hermione,” Ron’s weary voice cut through her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about what you said at Christmas…about our bickering affecting Harry.”

 

“What about it?” she asked, trying to keep her irritation out of her voice.

 

“Well, I reckon you were right,” he said. “I think Harry is going to need us…especially now.”

 

Hermione didn’t know what to say. When she first brought it up, she didn’t think he was listening, but she noticed that they had argued a lot less since Christmas. She didn’t know how actually agreeing to argue less from now on was going to make things any different. Unless…

 

“I think we should make a pact,” she stated.

 

“A pact?”

 

“You know, make a promise not put Harry in the middle of our disagreements and to try to get along better.”

 

“But we’ve already been trying to do that,” he replied.

 

“Yes, but we should make it official.”

 

Ron looked slightly wary. “Official? That doesn’t mean I’ll end up with purple spots on my face if I muck things up, does it? Because I’m speckled enough, thank you.”

 

Hermione cracked a slight smile. “Yes, I couldn’t forget your _spattergroit_.”

 

“Oi!” Ron exclaimed and Hermione laughed as much as the pain in her chest would allow.

 

“All right then. I’d shake on it, but you’d get this stuff all over you,” he said, holding out his arms awkwardly.

 

“It’s all right,” she said. “Madam Pomfrey will hex you if you get out of your bed again anyway.”

 

“I’m not afraid of her,” Ron replied, throwing his blanket off his pajama-clad legs.

 

“Mr. Weasley!  Do I need to stun you? You had better not be thinking of getting out of that bed!” Madam Pomfrey said sternly as she walked out of her office with a tray laden with a dozen smoking goblets.

 

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered as he pulled the blanket over his legs again.

 

Madam Pomfrey made her way carefully to Hermione and Ron’s beds. She placed the tray on the table between them.

 

“Now, Miss Granger you’ll need to drink these straight away,” the nurse said.

 

“All of them?” Hermione asked weakly.

 

“Every last one…Oh, pardon me, except this one,” she replied, pulling one goblet from the lot and handing it to Ron.  “This one is yours, Mr. Weasley.”

 

“What’s it for?” he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

 

“It’s a sleeping potion. You need to rest if you want to get out of here by the end of term.”

 

Ron grudgingly drank it and immediately his eyes began to sag.

 

“Miss Granger…”

 

Hermione nodded and reached for the first goblet. After drinking her sixth dose of potion, Ron’s raspy snores began to fill the room.

 

“Stubborn boy,” Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head at Ron. “Wouldn’t take a sleeping potion until he knew you were all right.”

 

“Really?” Hermione asked, pausing with a goblet inches from her lips.

 

“Drink,” the nurse ordered.

 

Hermione made a face at the orange-colored liquid inside but complied.

 

“I’ve never known a group of students like the three of you.” Madam Pomfrey mused.  “Always doing dangerous things and getting yourselves into trouble. Still, you all seem to care about each other. It’s not something you see often with people your age.”

 

Hermione smiled and gulped down her last goblet of potion. She felt the weight of sleep fall upon her.

 

“Get some rest. I daresay your other friends will be by later to pay the two of you a visit.”

 

“Thank you,” Hermione heard herself mumble, as if in a dream.  She heard the sharp tap of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes as she walked back to her office. Turning her head, Hermione looked over at Ron dozing peacefully in his bed before succumbing to sleep herself.

 

 

 


	6. Sixth Year

It was still dark outside when Molly Weasley woke.  This came as no surprise, as she’d woken before dawn for nearly thirty years, but when she had reached her arm out to prod her husband awake for work she found nothing but air. Molly shot up immediately in a panic and, for a moment, she fought to remember where she was. Then, her mind caught up with her. The neat beds all in a row, the large windows flooding the room with the moon’s last light, the overpowering smell of Mrs. Scower’s Magical Mess Remover; she was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. At once, a different sort of panic flared through her, and she immediately darted out of bed to check on Ron.

 

He was sleeping soundly, his mouth slightly open, his snores raspier than usual. She brushed back his fringe to feel his forehead and was pleased to see he wasn’t sweating and that his skin was cool to the touch. Certainly by now the poison was out of his system. She kissed him gently and smoothed his blanket down, earning a soft grumble in response.

 

_Just like when he was a little boy_ , she thought with a sigh.

 

She walked back to the bed across from his, where she’d been sleeping. One of the perks—if you could call it that—of all of her boys ending up in the hospital wing at one point or another during their years at Hogwarts was that she got to know the nurse quite well. Because of that, it had been easy for Molly to convince Poppy to allow her to stay the night, especially with the severity of Ron’s condition.  

 

Molly pulled a set of screens, which Poppy had set out for her the night before, around her bed. As she changed into her robes, she contemplated just how many of her loved ones had died or nearly died because of You-Know-Who. She’d lost both of her brothers in the first war, and more recently almost lost Ginny, Arthur, and now her little Ronnie. It was too much to bear. The idea that one of her children could die was a fear that seeped inside her very bones. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she’d do if…

 

_Best not to think about it._

 

She had just finished changing into her robes when she heard a muffled creak from the other side of the room. She peered around the partitions, expecting to see Poppy coming to administer another round of potions to Ron. Instead, she realized someone was entering the infirmary from the corridor, shuffling quickly, but quietly in slippered feet.  It wasn’t until the figure got closer and the light from the high windows illuminated her face that Molly realized it was Hermione. Even in the fading light, she could see that the young girl’s cheeks were shining with tears, and her hair was fanning out wildly behind her as she made her way purposefully toward where Ron was sleeping. Molly was taken aback by the look of panic on Hermione’s face. She’d already been by earlier to visit him, yet she looked every bit as frightened as Molly had felt when she had first received word from Dumbledore about what happened.

 

Hermione placed a large book on the nightstand beside Ron’s bed, and lit her wand. Molly retreated further into the shadows, wondering why the young woman had come to see Ron so early in the morning.  Hermione shone her light onto the book, and hunched over the nightstand as she read. Then, she turned her attention on Ron. She gingerly felt his forehead, clearly feeling for signs of a fever, and then carefully lifted his hand and felt for a pulse. Her actions were deliberate, but there was a gentleness there that didn’t escape Molly’s notice.

 

Molly was struck by this observation. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed Hermione’s fondness for Ron before. Molly knew that her son fancied Hermione quite a bit, although it had taken her by surprise at first. She should have seen the signs earlier, especially after having gone through it five times before with his brothers. But Ronnie was her baby boy. Molly had been sure that Ron’s grumbling over that Krum boy came as a result of his protective nature. She convinced herself that Ron felt it was his duty as a friend to look out for Hermione.  After all, her sons—Ron most of all— were fiercely protective of Ginny, and her own brothers had been protective of her. Also, she was sure he was much too young to be fancying girls

 

Molly realized she’d been wrong the Christmas before last when Ron had asked her, red-faced, what sorts of gifts one got for a girl. It was clear by his expression that he didn’t mean either her or Ginny. A couple of quick questions about the girl were enough for her to determine that the gift was meant for Hermione. In previous years, Molly knew he’d given both Harry and Hermione sweets for Christmas, so this was a rather odd question. It became clear to Molly then that he had begun to feel differently about his friend, but she had never been able to determine whether Hermione returned Ron’s affections.

 

She knew now it had been a mistake to believe Rita Skeeter’s article about Hermione during the Triwizard Tournament. Still, she knew Hermione did go to the ball with Viktor Krum. Hermione wouldn’t be the first girl to have her head turned by a celebrity. Molly had worried about the possibility that Ron’s feelings could go unreturned. She just couldn’t tell if Hermione felt anything more than friendship for him. Until now. Now, it was about as obvious as a Bludger to the head.

 

Hermione lowered his hand, obviously satisfied with his condition. “Thank God,” she said in a choked whisper.

 

Molly watched Hermione turn back to Ron’s nightstand, presumably to retrieve her book.

 

“Er-my-nee,” Ron croaked unexpectedly.

 

Luckily for Molly, Hermione gasped loud enough to cover hers. It took every bit of restraint she had not to rush over to her son’s bedside. He was awake. He was _finally_ awake. But something held her back. There was something about Hermione’s expression, a combination of relief and regret, that piqued Molly’s curiosity. She wondered what brought Hermione out of bed so early on a Sunday morning. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until after breakfast?

 

“You’re awake,” Hermione said in a weak voice.

 

There was a rustle of bedclothes as Ron tried to sit up.

 

“Ron, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself,” Hermione said.

 

“Wha’ ‘appened?”

 

Hermione shakily dropped into the chair beside his bed. At once, she quickly launched into the entire story: the love potion, Slughorn’s antidote, the poisoned mead, and the long wait out in the corridor until Poppy would let her, Harry and Ginny inside to see him. Molly felt tears run down her face. As many times, as she heard the story, it never got any easier to hear. Hermione was clearly having a difficult time talking about it as well; her voice quivered often as she explained to Ron what had happened.

 

Hermione sniffed. “Then, Harry and I went back to Gryffindor Tower, but I was so worried. I couldn’t sleep, so I started to read up on poisons in my Potions book. There’s a section on blended poisons, and it said that sometimes if you mix a fast-acting poison with a more gradual one, that you might treat one and not the other. So I had to come and make sure you were all right.”

 

Ron, who had been staring intently at Hermione throughout the entire story with a pensive expression on his face, suddenly broke into a grin.

 

“You’re mental, you know that?” Ron laughed. His voice was clearer now, though still a bit raspy.

 

Hermione gaped at him, clearly irritated that he was laughing at her.

 

“I was worried, Ron,” she said indignantly. “You nearly died.”

 

The smile slid off his face. “Is that why you’re here?”

 

“Of course, I came as soon as I…”

 

“So you feel sorry for me, then?”

 

Hermione stared at him, looking befuddled. “What are you on about?”

 

“You haven’t talked to me in months,” Ron said bitterly. “And now you’re here out of pity just because I’ve been poisoned.”

 

Hermione looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to burst into tears or yell. “How could you think that?” she asked, her voice shaking. “I was so scared. I almost…we almost lost you. Are you honestly telling me that if the situation was reversed and it had been me poisoned…”

 

“Stop, don’t even…”

 

“…if it had been me, would you be here right now?”

 

“You know I would be,” he snapped.

 

“Then why would you think I’d be here for any reason other than concern for you?” she finished.

 

Ron hesitated. “Concern?” he said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

 

Hermione apparently did not catch it. “Yes, you’re…you’re my friend. I know I haven’t acted like one lately…”

 

She trailed off. Molly shook her head, finally more clear on why Hermione’s name had gone practically unmentioned at Christmas. Every time she’d asked Ron about Hermione he’d shrugged off her questions and changed the subject. That coupled with Ginny’s news that Ron had a girlfriend—some girl called Lavender—and everything suddenly made a lot more sense.

 

“Our pact,” Ron said.

 

“What?”

 

“We’ve broken our pact.”

 

Hermione sighed heavily. “I know. We swore we wouldn’t put Harry in the middle of our disagreements, and yet that’s all we’ve done for the past few months.”

 

“It was worse than third year,” he said quietly.

 

She considered him for a moment. “Yes, it was.”

 

An uncomfortable silence permeated the room and Molly wanted more than anything to help them along. Though, she knew deep down that this was something they needed to sort out for themselves.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ron said finally.

 

“I am, too,” Hermione said. “But I really should head back to bed now. I shouldn’t be out of the tower this early in the morning.”

 

She stood and collected her book from the nightstand. She had taken a step toward the door when Ron called out.

 

“Do you…” His voice trailed off. “Do you think you’ll come by later?”

 

Hermione hesitated, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of visitors to keep you company. Harry said he’d come by, and I’m sure Ginny and…”

 

“But I want you.”

 

Hermione’s posture tensed slightly, and Molly heard her son sputtering as he tried to lessen the implications of what he had just said, even though she was sure he meant it.

 

“I-I mean, it’s been so long since we’ve talked…I’d really like it if you’d come.”

 

He mumbled that last bit, but Molly heard him all the same.

 

Hermione still appeared reluctant. “All right, then.”

 

“Really?”

 

She turned around to look at him. “Yes. After we’ve both had some sleep. You need rest if you want to get out of here anytime soon.”

 

 “I suppose so.”

 

“And Ron, I’m…I’m glad you’re okay,” Hermione added, hugging her book to her chest.

 

He grinned. “Later, then?”

 

Hermione nodded and gave him a soft smile before turning to leave. Slowly, she shuffled back toward the double doors of the infirmary. She cast one look back at Ron before disappearing into the corridor. Molly heard Ron sigh heavily, and she watched him for a few minutes as he stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

 

As quietly as she could, she stepped backward toward her bed and sat down. She waited to hear signs that Ron had fallen asleep again, but it was clear that he had too much on his mind for that. Poppy arrived a quarter of an hour later with a goblet full of essence of rue for Ron to take. It was only then that Molly dared to make her presence known—pretending that she’d only just woken up. She immediately pulled her son into a strong hug, and was surprised when he hugged her back just as fiercely.

 

Poppy had lit the candles along the walls, and for the first time Molly could see that most of the color had returned to Ron’s cheeks. For someone who’d been poisoned on his seventeenth birthday, he looked surprisingly cheerful. He drank his potion without any complaint and drifted off to sleep soon after.

 

For a long time, Molly sat in the chair beside his bed watching him sleep. Seventeen—where had the time gone? While she’d hoped his birthday would be unforgettable, she had never imagined it would be for something like this.

 

Still, Molly had to smile a little when she thought of Hermione’s visit. She and Ron had come a long way from the bickering children who’d argued over pets so many years ago.  The way they laughed together and cared for each other was rooted in a deep friendship. Molly shook her head. They were too young, too inexperienced to know just how rare this was, to understand where the foundation they were building could lead. It was slightly jarring to think that her Ronnie was only a year younger than she and Arthur were when they eloped.

 

_Would they—_

 

Molly absentmindedly twisted her wedding band around her finger until Ron let out a loud snore that broke her from her thoughts.  The sun had begun to rise, filling the room with a soft yellow light. She stood, and smoothed Ron’s bedcovers one last time. Convinced at last that he was going to make a full recovery, Molly gathered her things and thanked the nurse for her hospitality. She kissed Ron’s forehead and made her way to McGonagall’s office to Floo home. When she reached the double doors of the infirmary, she turned back to look at her son. He had shifted onto his side, a ghost of a smile on his face. Shaking her head at the idea that her little boy was all grown up, she pulled open the doors and stepped into the empty corridor.


	7. Seventh Year

Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way down the spiral staircase from the Headmaster’s office. Just before they reached the bottom, Harry whipped his Invisibility Cloak around his body, making it appear as though his head was bobbing in thin air.

 

“I think I’m going to go up to Gryffindor Tower and get some sleep,” Harry said.

 

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said.

 

“Yeah, mate, you’ve earned it,” Ron agreed. “You two go ahead. I reckon I should go down and…see what Mum and Dad want to do.”

 

Hermione watched a pained expression pass over Ron’s face. Although she was exhausted and the thought of a good night’s sleep sounded tempting, she didn’t think Ron should be alone.

 

“Actually, I think I’ll go down with you,” Hermione said. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

 

Harry hesitated, looking a bit guilty, but Ron raised his hand to cut off any protests. “Mate, I told you, you’ve earned it, and none of them will give you a moment’s peace.”

 

“You’re sure? I mean, I don’t want...”

 

“Really, Harry, it’s all right,” Hermione said.

 

With a sigh, Harry conceded. “Goodnight then,” he said, stepping over the stone gargoyle that once stood guard outside the Headmaster’s study. “Thanks.”

 

Hermione and Ron watched as he headed off in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, tugging the Invisibility Cloak up over his head.

 

Hermione looked up at Ron and he gave her a weak smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to go up? You could probably use some sleep.”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. I’d rather do something useful if I can.”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Ron said, looking away from her.

 

The two of them slowly made their way down to the Great Hall stepping over debris from the crumbling castle walls. Hermione cast a furtive glace at Ron’s face, but it was unreadable. She found herself at a loss at what to say to him.

 

“Bit weird, isn’t it?” Ron said, speaking up at last as he helped Hermione over a particularly large gap that had been blasted out of one staircase. “I never thought we’d be back here again.”

 

“I guess I really didn’t think so either,” Hermione said. “And certainly not like this.”

 

“Mr. Weasley! Miss Granger!” Ron and Hermione stopped and watched as Professor McGonagall appeared at the foot of the stairs. “What are the two of you doing wandering up here alone?”

 

“We, er…” Ron began.

 

“We followed Harry to make sure he got up to Gryffindor Tower,” Hermione said quickly. “He needed the sleep.”

 

Professor McGonagall nodded wearily. “Perhaps you should have stayed up there yourselves. You’ve done enough for tonight.”

 

“I’d… we’d like to help wherever we can,” Ron said quietly.

 

Hermione looked up at him. His voice was firm and his expression, determined. At that moment, she realized just how much he’d matured over the past few months. She hoped that he’d return to the carefree person she’d always known him to be, but this war had aged him, had aged them all.  Professor McGonagall gave him a shrewd look, likely sensing the same change in him.

 

“Very well, Mr. Weasley,” she said finally. “Madam Pomfrey is running low on supplies to treat the wounded. Would you and Miss Granger mind getting the necessary supplies from the hospital wing? I trust you both know what she will need.”

 

“Yes, Professor.”

 

“Thank you,” she said. “Now I must take measures to make the Headmaster’s office available for use by the Ministry.”

 

Professor McGonagall hurried past them toward Professor Dumbledore’s former office. Hermione assumed that once everything was settled that she’d take the Headmistress position.

 

“Why would the Ministry need to use the Headmaster’s office?” Ron asked as they trudged back up the stairs after McGonagall.

 

“Things are in disarray at the Ministry of Magic,” Hermione said. “If they’re going to instate Kingsley as the Minister as they’ve discussed, he’s going to need a safe place to get things in order. There are probably still supporters of Voldemort out there, ones who might want to avenge his death.”

 

“Wonderful,” Ron said under his breath.

 

They reached the double doors of the hospital wing, which were mercifully free of debris. Ron pulled one of the doors open and Hermione slipped in. Once inside, she lit the lamps to fortify the pale sunlight just barely filtering though the windows so that they could see what they were doing.

 

“Do you know what we should get?” Ron asked.

 

“Bandages, Skele-Gro, and essence of dittany,” Hermione said, walking over to the cupboard off to the side of the large room. “Anything that would help, really.”

 

As she pulled open the door of the cupboard, she saw that Ron was looking around the room.

 

“Ron?”

 

“It’s just strange,” he said. “The entire castle’s in a shambles, but this room is untouched. All the beds are still made.”

 

Ron’s voice cracked slightly and Hermione walked over to him. He seemed to come to himself when she touched his arm.

 

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “The supplies.”

 

Ron strode over to the cupboard and began to pull down boxes.

 

“Ron, stop” she said. “Please stop.”

 

He turned to look at her, his eyes red and wet. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

 

“Oh, Ron,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Tears streamed down her face. She often took issue with the things Fred did. He and George caused far too much trouble and, in her opinion, spent far too much time belittling Ron. But she also knew that Fred was incredibly loyal, a clever businessman, and he fought very hard for what was right. Furthermore, she knew Ron looked up to him quite a bit. This loss was undoubtedly very difficult for him.

 

Ron clung to her, sniffing loudly, and she cried with him as the events of the night and crippling fatigue finally caught up with her. After a while, Ron let go of her. He turned and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

 

“Sorry,” he said, hoarsely. “We had better get these things to Madam Pomfrey.”

 

Hermione pulled a handkerchief out of her back pocket and wiped her eyes and nose before walking over to the cupboard. Ron had already pulled down most of the things that Madam Pomfrey would need and he was now stacking them in a way that would be easiest for them to carry. She knelt beside him.

 

“If you want to talk about it later… ” she said, her voice trailing off.

 

“Thank you,” he said, looking up at her through his wet bronze eyelashes.

 

Ron hesitated for a moment before leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing in and out in unison. It was startling, the emotions running though her at the moment: grief at losing so many friends, gratitude that so many had been spared, fear of the future, happiness that the worst was over, weariness, fatigue, and an undying love for the man across from her.

 

“We had better…” she began.

 

“I know.”

 

He sighed and got to his feet with an armload of boxes. Hermione followed him with a smaller pile. She was sure at some point, once the integrity of the castle structure was deemed safe, the wounded would be transferred up here or to St. Mungo’s.

 

As she walked out the double doors, Hermione spared one last glance around the hospital wing. She, Ron and Harry had spent much of their childhood in that room after experiencing grievous injuries. As the early morning sunlight illuminated the unspoiled white beds, the room betrayed no sign of this, nor of the chaos right outside the double doors. Hermione remembered sitting beside Ron’s bed after he was poisoned, praying for him to wake up. She remembered the relief of Harry finally awakening after falling from his broomstick. She remembered Ron and Harry bringing her homework after her Polyjuice Potion mishap.

 

Suddenly, she realized Ron had already started down the corridor and was now waiting for her. Hermione turned quickly and closed the door behind her, hoping never to return.


	8. Nineteen Years Later

“Ron, calm down,” Hermione said, hurrying after her husband, taking three quick steps for each of his long strides.

 

His face was terribly pale and clearly conveyed the terror that was running through his mind.

 

“How could something like this happen?” Ron yelled, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “What sort of supervision do they have here anyway?”

 

“What sort of supervision did we ever have?” Hermione said.

 

“Yes, and that’s how we ended up in here every bloody year when we were kids,” Ron said. “I have half a mind to– ”

 

“Please calm down, Ron,” Hermione said. “The Headmaster was kind enough to let us come. It would be embarrassing if we got kicked out for making a scene.”

 

Ron scowled but kept any comments he might have had to himself. In no time, they reached the double doors of the hospital wing. Ron pushed the doors open with a loud bang, causing the elderly Madam Pomfrey, who had been coming out of her office at that very moment, to jump and drop a goblet full of orange potion all over her white robes.

 

“Oh dear,” Hermione said rushing to help her. “I’m so sorry, Madam Pomfrey.”

 

“This is a hospital wing, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said, glaring at an anxious Ron, who was not paying attention, but rather was staring in the direction of a shielded bed on the side of the room. “This is not a circus. There’s no need to make such noise.”

 

Hermione shook her head at Ron before turning back to the nurse. “How is Rose?”

 

“Fine, just fine,” she said, bending to retrieve the fallen goblet. “I was just about to administer her a pain relieving potion. She cracked her skull, but I’ve mended it and there doesn’t appear to be any lasting damage. I would like to keep her over the weekend to make certain she’s all right.”

 

“Thank you,” Ron said shortly. “Can we see her?”

 

Madam Pomfrey nodded. “She’s the bed at the end. I’m just going to go refill this.”

 

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Ron whispered as they made their way over to their daughter’s hospital bed. “Don’t you think we ought to take her to St. Mungo’s and have a healer look her over? It’s a head injury, you know.”

 

“She fixed Harry’s skull well enough in sixth year,” Hermione said.

 

“Yeah, but Harry’s always been a bit touched in the head anyway, hasn’t he?” Ron said.

 

“Ron, what a thing to say…” she said as they entered the curtain around Rose’s bed.

 

“Hi Dad, hi Mum,” Rose said when they came into view.

 

“Rosie, baby,” Ron said dropping beside her. “Are you all right?”

 

“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, looking sullen.

 

Rose was lying back against several bright-white pillows. Her red curls peeked out of a bandage that Madam Pomfrey had wound around her head. Her freckles stood out in stark contrast with her pale face. Hermione noted that Victoire, James, and Albus were sitting quietly in the chairs on the opposite side of her bed.

 

Hermione stooped to kiss Rose then she looked up at her niece and nephews. James and Al were looking around nervously, avoiding her eye. But Victoire sprang up and kissed her and Ron on their cheeks.

 

“Hi, Aunt Hermione,” Victoire said. “Hi, Uncle Ron.”

 

“Hello,” Hermione said. “Where are the others?”

 

“I sent them to dinner,” Victoire said. “Madam Pomfrey was about to kick all of us out if I hadn’t. But James and Al wanted to stay, so I decided to stay and make sure they didn’t cause any trouble.”

 

“Thank you, Victoire” Hermione said. “So, what happened?”

 

“Rose fell off a broom,” Victoire said, looking in James and Al’s direction.

 

“A broom?” Hermione looked at Rose. “Why were you on a broom? First years aren’t allowed… Oh, Ron, you didn’t!”

 

“Of course I didn’t,” he said, sounding hurt.

 

“Well it couldn’t have been a school broom, those don’t fly very high, do they?” Hermione mused aloud. “So it had to be… James, it wasn’t your broom, was it?”

 

“It was my idea,” Rose interjected. “Al and I wanted to try out for the Quidditch team. James lent me his broom and we were practicing a few things when I fell.”

 

“Oh, Rose,” Hermione said.

 

“You were trying to make the Quidditch team?” Ron asked Rose.

 

His face had regained its color and he was looking at their daughter with unmistakable pride. Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Rose said. “Fat lot of good it’ll do now with me in here all weekend. Tryouts are tomorrow.”

 

“Well you should be grateful that Madam Pomfrey was able to patch you up so well,” Hermione said. “You could have been killed.”

 

“You’re not going to tell our mum, Aunt Hermione, are you?” James asked, speaking up for the first time.

 

“Well, I’m going to have to tell her something,” Hermione said. “We had to take Hugo to stay with your gran, and she’s very worried. I’ll explain to your mum that it wasn’t your fault, but you three need to be careful in the future.”

 

“Thank you, Auntie Hermione,” Al said. “We will.”

 

“Why don’t the three of you head to dinner?” Ron said. “You can come back in a little while if Madam Pomfrey says it’s all right.”

 

“Okay,” Victoire said. “Come on, Al, James. The others will be waiting to hear how she’s doing.”

 

Hermione hugged her niece and nephews and sat down. She watched Ron hug Victoire and pat Al and James on their backs before walking over and sitting beside her. Moments later Madam Pomfrey appeared with a fresh goblet.

 

“I’ll ask you to stay only a little while longer,” Madam Pomfrey said to Ron and Hermione. “Your daughter is doing better, but she needs rest.”

 

“We won’t stay long,” Hermione said, before Ron could open his mouth to say something that she assumed would have been rude.

 

“Here you are, Miss Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said, handing her the goblet. “Drink this. It’s a pain relieving potion.”

 

Hermione watched as Rose gulped down the potion, pulling a face as she did so. Hermione remembered its taste quite well —something like baked beans— and shuddered.

 

Rose finished and handed the goblet back to the nurse, who left them alone again.

 

“Everyone expects us to be good at Quidditch because we’re Weasleys,” Rose muttered. “This is so embarrassing.”

 

“What were you doing when you fell?” Hermione asked.

 

“James was levitating a Quaffle toward me,” she said. “I tried to reach for it, but I lost my balance and fell.”

 

“Well that could happen to anyone,” Ron said sympathetically.

 

“No, it couldn’t,” Rose said grumpily. “I’m terrible.”

 

Hermione looked at Ron, not knowing what to say. Quidditch was clearly Ron’s territory.

 

“You’re not,” he said. “You just need some real practice. We’ll practice all summer, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Rose said, still looking gloomy.

 

“I’m just glad you’re all right,” Hermione said. “Your dad and I were very worried when we got the owl from Neville.”

 

“’m fine,” she said softly. Rose’s eyes began to close as drowsiness from the potion started to take effect.

 

“Send us an owl if you need anything,” Hermione said, kissing her daughter on the forehead.

 

“’kay,” she mumbled.

 

Ron looked at his daughter sadly. “Night, baby.”

 

“Night, Dad,” she said.

 

He kissed her cheek as Rose drifted off into sleep. Ron sat down and watched her for a moment.

 

“I’m so glad she’s okay,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I was that scared.”

 

“Two years ago,” she said, “when Hugo fell and broke the upstairs window.”

 

“Yeah. That was pretty bad.”

 

Ron slid his arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. They sat and watched Rose sleep peacefully.

 

“Ron,” Hermione said finally. “We’d better go.”

 

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.

 

He pressed a kiss to Rose’s forehead and stood, looking conflicted at having to leave.

 

“We need to get back to the Burrow,” Hermione said. “I don’t want your mum to worry.”

 

He nodded and with one last glance at their sleeping daughter, Ron and Hermione went around the curtain and made their way across the room.

 

“Are you leaving, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

 

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Thank you so much for taking care of our Rose.”

 

“My pleasure,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I’ll release her on Sunday night, depending on how she’s doing.”

 

“Thanks,” Ron said.

 

Hermione and Ron walked out of the hospital wing and into the empty corridor. Most of the students were probably in the Great Hall having dinner. Hermione’s eye caught a glint from a highly-polished metal plaque outside the double doors that read _Fred Weasley Memorial Hospital Wing_. She smiled weakly as they made their way down the corridor.

 

“You don’t think we should have talked Madam Pomfrey into letting Rose out tomorrow so she could still try out?” Ron asked.

 

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “This coming from the man who wanted to move Rose to St. Mungo’s.”

 

“She had her heart set on it,” he said.

 

“Ron, she’s just had a head injury.”

 

“You said yourself that Madam Pomfrey patched her up,” he said.

 

“That doesn’t mean that she should be flying around,” Hermione said. “Honestly, you Weasleys and Quidditch.”

 

“Might I remind you that you’re a Weasley, too,” Ron said, in far better spirits now that he knew Rose was okay.

 

“In any case,” Hermione said. “I think this should show you that it’s a far more dangerous game than you are willing to admit. I’m not sure I like the idea of Rose trying out for the team. She’s been in school for two weeks and she’s already been to the hospital wing.”

 

“That’s nothing,” Ron said. “Fred and George had only been here a couple of hours before they got sent to the hospital wing.”

 

“Is it a competition?” she asked. “I can’t imagine how it will be when Hugo gets here. That child takes accident-prone to a new level.”

 

“It’ll be fine,” Ron said. “I’ll just talk to George about making another donation to the school.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” she said.

 

Ron put his hand on the small of Hermione’s back and led her down the marble staircase and into the Great Hall. She wondered how Ron felt about being back now that he wasn’t preoccupied with Rose’s welfare. If it bothered him at all, he didn’t mention it. He pushed open the large oak doors and they walked out towards the front gate.

 

“Maybe we can ask Neville to pop in and check on Rose,” Hermione said. “Just to make sure she’s doing okay.”

 

Ron smiled widely. “There’s an idea.”

 

“He should be home for the weekend,” she said. “We’ll contact him at the Leaky Cauldron tonight.”

 

“Okay,” he said. “How about we go and get Hugo at the Burrow and pick up a few things for Rose at Diagon Alley. Some sweets and tricks, maybe a new book.”

 

“I think she’d like that,” Hermione said.

 

They walked silently across the grounds. The sun was rapidly falling behind the mountains. When they reached the other side of the gates, Ron Apparated to the Burrow. Hermione cast one last glance in the direction of the castle. She sighed in relief, knowing that Rose was in good hands before she turned on her heel and disappeared into the cool September evening.


End file.
